UnCosmopolitan
by bluesinthenight
Summary: The girls of "Sex and the City" take a trip to Charm City, witnessing a murder along the way before meeting the men of "Homicide" Silly evol fic, when worlds collide sort of thing. Some swearing and references to sex.


"Honestly, how in the hell does anyone walk around this place?" Samantha Jones grumbled as she snagged the heel of her Manolo Blanihks on the cobblestones of the street. Her companion, Manhattan socialite and writer Carrie Bradshaw didn't even bother to address her complaint, Carrie nervously looked from storefront to storefront, they'd been walking quite some distance but things had started to look a bit off, sleazy, fleabag and grimy.

Miranda Hobbs, red haired and feisty, pulled her jacket a bit closer as what looked like a old-fashioned wino stared intently at her and she shuddered before saying, "Okay, color me officially done now.. this place is anything but Charm City."

Uptight and prissy-looking, Charlotte York-McDougal clutched her purse closer and pursed her lips tightly, nodding an affirmative to Miranda's words. Oh what odious things they'd done in the name of friendship but this had to rank near the bottom.

The three friends had come down this morning on the Metroliner from New York City at the behest of Carrie Bradshaw, to provide moral support as she attended a party in Baltimore, thrown in honor of her newest boyfriend, Ted Fontera, television producer. Ted had a show on one of the cable movie channels that was set in Baltimore Maryland's notorious prison on Eager Street. Some of the filming took place here, some on the sounds stages of Long Island. Carrie hadn't been seeing Ted very long at all, three or four weeks, and everyone knew he was just another one of her rebound fucks from another bout with Mr. Big.

At lunch Ted had strongly hinted that he wanted lutefish and lefse, some sort of Norwegian delicacies and before you could snap your fingers, out they were, searching for this Norwegian store and deli. Nothing pissed off Miranda more, she could tell it wasn't the lutefish or potato pancakes Ted Fontera wanted, oh no, he was getting off on his ability to make Carrie jump, he was creaming on the power, the sway he held over her. Stupid pig of a bastard with his balding head, long pony tail and earring, he reeked of self-importance. Miranda couldn't stand him and it wasn't just that he'd taken them to some harborside bar that had dogs lounging around inside for lunch.

So they'd set off to accompany Carrie on her fools errand, but it became apparent after a while that they'd lost their way. The bohemian vibe of the Thames Street area had quickly faded as they walked down Caroline Street, giving way first to a grimy facade of lower end stores followed by porno shops and then industrial area. A cold wind whipped past Charlotte as she strained to see the squatting gray buildings mixed with stunted trees ahead. She gasped, "Are you sure we're on the right street because that looks like," and her voice dropped dramatically to a whisper, "public housing," and another gulp, "just ahead."

Carrie shook her head and staggered forward, trying to squint hard enough to make out the Norwegian bakery between trying to read the garbled directions she'd written down. "We must have made a wrong turn.. why are there no taxis in this damn town?"

Samantha smirked and squared her shoulders, "Honey, there's nothing in this damn town.. Have you even fucked him yet because this is too much to put up with for someone you haven't fucked.."

An awkward silence fell, as soon as Samantha got a look at the rooms Ted's people had booked for them at the Admiral Fell Inn at the foot of Broadway, she'd hastily decamped and after a long search found the only place even close to acceptable to her standards was a suite at the Sheraton Inner Harbor, a short Water Taxi ride from the tiny rooms at the Fell. Her mood hadn't been improved any by the short bar-hopping stint Ted led them on after lunch, going into places like The Horse You Rode In On with a grimy bar and peanut shells on the floor to that weird pink building housing something called Miss Irenes. She shuddered again remembering the bleak earth toned interior of one particular bar, the Waterfront. Better to stay in the Sheratons bar and guzzle martinis while fending off overfed businessmen from the Midwest than to go uber slumming with tv pricks.

She noticed that a black man had fallen into step behind them, moving closer, head down and hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his Starter jacket. Samantha closed the gap between herself and the other three ladies as she tried to get her cellphone out of her bag. "Where's a taxi when you need one?" she muttered, feeling suddenly very out of place in her sable fur coat and Chanel outfit.

They huddled together and bravely went forward, at least for a few steps until a large black man stepped into their path and grinned, exposing a large gold tooth in his very dark face. "Yo, you fine ladies need sum' hep'?"

They stared aghast, seeing this mountainous man wearing sweats and Fila running shoes along with enough fake gold jewelry to make Mr. T jealous. Before anyone could answer an angry voice came from behind them, "Fuck off, Tyrone! Dey is mine! I seen 'em first..Hand ovah u bags bitches.."

The man that had been following them was brandishing a gun, it looked as big as a cannon and it was obvious by the serious expression on his face that he meant what he said, he wanted their purses.

But the grinning man in sweats moved closer, his body language getting threatening as he produced a gun too and yelled, "You best step back, lil'man.. I wuz talkin' to dees ladies.. You fuck off Leroy befor' I bust a cap in yore ass."

Bullets flew and all four women hit the ground with a squeal as the two men shot at each other before falling backwards.

"My new shoes," Carrie wailed as she realized she'd snapped the heel on her new marabou-trimmed Jimmy Chous.

Samantha groused from her face down position, "Big deal, I heard a distinct rip in my skirt just a minute ago.. you need to tell your beau he owes me a new skirt.. this Chanel suit is brand new!"

The ladies had all landed in various undignified positions between their two assailants but as soon as Samantha spoke Charlotte looked at her with disgust and more than a touch of anger before snapping tightly, "We're attacked by strange black men and all you two can talk about is the damage done to your clothes?"

The four lay there in shocked silence for a few minutes, not saying a word, the two black men were still and silence, puddles of blood spreading from beneath them. As sirens started coming nearer Miranda morphed into her true nature, the shrewd attorney as she instructed the girls, "Let me handle the cops...I'll straighten this out but not a peep from any of you.."

In the dingy beige ceramic tiled interrogation box Detective Mike Kellerman laconically chewed a wad of bubble gum as he tried to keep from rolling his eyes in boredom and disbelief at the inanities spilling out of his witness' rouged lips. His darkly handsome partner, Meldrick Lewis was staring slightly horror stuck at the dark haired lady, before barking out, "Look lay-dee, I don't care if you were down in the projects tryin' to cop a vial but you gots ta be honest wit' us..Now...from the top...what in the hell were you doin' down in the hood?"

She spat out hastily, "I told you... and I told you that I'm a very important doctor's wife...You can't treat me like this!"

Meldrick gave her a humorous look and said in a voice rife with sarcasm, "Yeah, yeah, Charlotte Yorke McDougal.. of NYC and Cunnetticat..but dat still don't tell me nuthin' 'bout how you managed to be the fillin' in a bump 'n run stick up arteest dead boy sammich. You off 'em and make it look like the real deal? Wuz they witnesses ta' what you and your pals did downtown to Fontera? We already know you and your 'friends' were the last folks seen with tv big shot Fontera..don't give me any more bullsnap 'bout some pancakes.. so who sent you to do Fontera? The Mob? Someone big in NYC he pissed off.. sweetheart we know you're involved up to your pretty little eyeballs..you might as well tell me and Mikey here... you don't and you gonna be goin' somewhere 'dat's not gonna dress you in that Pucci-Gucci.. Did you pop Fontera?"

As Meldrick needled the witness Mike eyed her thinking that she wasn't bad looking, shapely body dressed in a frilly dress with long legs and high heels. Her dark hair fell in an elegant sweep of waves to her shoulders. The thing that kept her from being beautiful was the way she held herself, like her shit didn't stink, another stuck-up broad who thought she was too good to talk to lowly cops. She reminded him for every rich bitch who'd ever snubbed him for his old man working at Majestic or who refused to dance with him because his shirt didn't sport an alligator emblem on the chest. He smirked and joined in Meldrick's verbal assault with a "Come on, we all know you did it or you know who did..make it easy on yourself and tell us."

"Why should I tell you anything...you..you..low-life creep!" Charlotte Yorke-McDougal spat indignantly at the fairer of the two men.

Mike and Meldrick exchanged looks of amusement after the sudden outburst of their suspect. "Dis' ain't Buckingham palace and Mikey here ain't zactly Prince Charming but 'dat doan make you no Princess Di.. so be straight up and tell us wha' happened?"

Charlotte shot them both a dirty look, a look that said she wouldn't acknowledge either one on the street normally and she wasn't about to tolerate them here either before she exclaimed, "How many times do I have to explain, we were looking for lefse, for Carrie's boyfriend.. Ted Fontera..we got lost.."

Kellerman sighed, expressing both weary boredom and disgust with the prissy woman before him and he said angrily, "That has to be the dumbest story anyone has ever tried to pass off as the truth in this room.. I've had just about enough of you...you better tell us what you were really doing here in town before I send you over to county lockup.. the ladies over there are just dying to make your acquaintance."

The woman stared at them with a stunned look, her mouth opening and closing silently a few times, like a gigged fish being pulled from the water only to land on the dock at the fisherman's feet. Two enormous red spots appeared on her high cheekbones as she pressed thin lips prissily together Charlotte Yorke McDougal's dark eyes widened, the whites showing wildly as she crossed her arms over her chest and stamped her foot, refusing to say another word. This was the last time she went to bolster Carrie up on one of her crazy dating snafus. These men were ill-mannered brutes!

Gee stood impassively in the observation booth, looking in on Meldrick and Mike with the dark haired witness, Mrs. McDougal before turning to see if Bayliss and Pembleton were having any more luck with the older blonde woman. As he watched the door to the booth opened, and Sgt. Kay Howard joined him. With a toss of her long red hair she indicated the blonde in the Box with Pembleton and asked Gee, "What do you make of these gals? Not local, too fancy for jobs, kinda odd for hit women.."

Without lifting his eyes from the action on the other side of the glass he said gruffly, "Hookers, fancy hookers, expensive hookers.. probably mob-related, sent down here with orders to kill Fontera."

She nodded, thinking that he was right. Who else would have the kind of dough needed to walk around in such expensive get ups even if they looked as sleazy and had just as much flesh on display as any street walker from The Block

"Excuse me?" Tim Bayliss choked out in a shocked voice, his face turning a few more exotic colors of crimson.

The thin blonde with a face that was obviously no stranger to the plastic surgeons knife repeated her request. "I said who do I have to blow around here to get a decent cup of coffee..."

The intense black man seated next to the boyish Tim Bayliss leaned across the table and muttered, "And that's something you just have tons of experience at, is it not? Blowing, blow jobs and blowing away.."

She smirked, the blonde actually smirked at Frank like she was flirting with him at a cocktail party, not handcuffed to a table in a police interrogation room. "Well, I've never been accused of being lip lazy, officer..by the way the name is Sam, Sam Jones... perhaps you've heard of me, Sam Jones Public Relations.."

Now it was Detective Pembleton's turn to smirk, "So that's what they're calling it these days, Public Re-la-tions.. but you didn't answer my question... Saaam Jonze... why did you blow away Ted Fontera?"

Tim sat back and impassively watched the interplay between his partner and the middle aged blonde. She wore far too much makeup and jewelry, even if they were expensive, to be anything but than just another aging prostitute. Expensive suit and silk blouse cut almost to her navel, exposing her lack of cleavage and lots of white skin combined with high heels. Sam smiled, seeing that the younger detective was eyeing her and she stretched, exposing one long leg all the way up to her thong through the tear her skirt suffered earlier. Bayliss visibly shuddered and turned away, this woman did nothing for him and the idea of sex with her was too horrifying to contemplate. Too cold, too brassy and forward.

As leisurely as if they were attending a garden party instead of a criminal investigation Frank Pembleton pulled several objects out of the ladies handbag in front of him, "Hmm. what do we have here? Not your usual assortment of credit cards, used kleenex and lipstick.. Why it looks like the tricks of your trade Sam Jones... Condoms, lube, oh, and what's this? Drugs.."

Frank handed the dark brown pill bottle to his partner, watching as Tim wrestled with the child-proof lid before pouring the contents into his hand, small diamond shaped blue pills stamped Pfizer. Tim rolled the pills around his hand and said with a sarcastic grin, "Illegal drugs, imagine that Frank."

Sam huffed "Oh please, I'm sure this is not the first time either of you gentlemen have seen Viagra.."

As Tim put the pills back into the bottle Frank glared at her and said sternly, "I've never seen a hooker carry a supply for her clients before."

Flipping back her blonde hair Samantha didn't know if she was angry or amused that the horny-looking cop thought she was a prostitute so she corrected him, "Sweetie.. I fuck for fun and do public relations, not pubic relations for money."

Both men, Bayliss and Pembleton just sat there, staring at Sam as if she were a sexual leper, not the hottest thing in Charm City.

Sam Jones frowned, there was nothing she hated worse than men completely immune to her charms and she rattled the handcuff as she whined, "How on earth do you expect me to think straight with this 'thing' on... I've worn prettier bracelets than this just to sleep in."

Seeing that she was getting no reaction Samantha leaned forward, exposing her breasts as she whispered conspiratorially, seeking to make flirty eye contact with the black cop, "Tell you what, you take it off and we could have a good time. I've always wanted to act out that interrogation scene in "Fatal Instinct".. I bet you'd like that."

Frank Pembleton's intense gaze didn't waver, he continued to stare at her and repeated testily, "Fontera...tell us why you killed him.."

Indignantly Sam pulled herself upright and away from Frank and with a snooty expression on her face huffed, "Me? Kill Ted? I wouldn't waste one second of my precious time or anything else on that sleaze.. Big man, big important man making my friend run all over this stupid place looking for pancakes for Christs sake.. "

Tim jumped in at that point, in a voice as quiet as a priests in a confessional he said, "That's another lie.There were no pancakes or pancake houses nearby... the direction you em, ladies, were picked up heading only goes right into the projects.. now we know you guys were either copping drugs or fencing the victim's valuables.. The body was found minus one Rolex and any jewelry.."

Frank added his voice, shouting loudly in counterpoint to his partners tone, "No, you weren't dumping his valuables or scoring an eightball... you were unloading the murder weapons onto a few unsuspecting corner boys.. or maybe someone in the projects, some drug organization wanted Fontera dead and you were picking up the payoff.. his license was missing and we found it on your friend..Just tell us.."

Before Sam could react the door opened violently and a woman with short no-nonsense red hair entered, eyes snapping and voice raised, "Don't tell them anything, Samantha.." before she turned to the men and yelled, "I'm Miss Jones legal counsel and this interview is over."

Frank sighed, rubbing his face with one hand before spitting out in a voice rife with disgust, "Miz Hobbs, you're not licensed to practice law in the state of Maryland as we established earlier, get out of my interrogation!"

"I told you I don't know what you're talking about," wailed the curly haired blonde, clutching her head with both hands as if to drown out the detectives voices.

"Come on, you don't really expect us to believe that...do ya?" snarked Detective Paul Falsone as he leaned against the back wall of the Box in a futile attempt to seem taller than usual. All these chicks in high heels were making him feel stubby.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, right, babe.." groused the tall thin detective with the slightly pock-marked face and black hair, "Your fingerprints are all over the murder scene, we got witnesses that saw you making tracks out of the place at high speed.."

Carrie Bradshaw moaned and clutched her forehead thinking that she should never have had five martinis with her lunch because this splitting headache wasn't making dealing with these guys easy. She gasped out "Please officer, I swear..I don't have a clue why you're asking me these thingsss.." her voice degenerating into a whine on the word 'things' before she continued on, "I told you the truth, I write a column for a New York newspaper, I came here to visit the guy I'm dating, he asked me to get him some special food his Norwegian mother used to make for him..and again, the reason I have his drivers license is that he gave it to me, so I'd have an address to direct the cab driver to if I got lost..he knows I'm terrible with direction."

While she was behaving like a drama queen, by waving her hands in the air and moving around in the chair Detective Paul Falsone could barely keep his eyes in their sockets. The combination of her low cut sheer white dress with day glo orange underwear kept distracting him from her replies to his questions. "Hey, I'm from the New York area...what kinda column is it and what paper?" Paul said, wondering from the look on the suspects face if he stunk or something as he tried to get a surreptitious sniff of his pits.

She smirked, sitting up semi-erect for the first time since being handcuffed to the table, "You? I doubt it, I highly doubt it," punctuated by her wagging head, "I don't write 'Guidos Guide To Love In Brooklyn' it's more upscale, 'Sex And The City' geared towards Manhattanites looking for love.."

Turning to Detective Munch Carrie made a plaintive plea, "I'm dying for a cigarette.. " He shook his head, glaring at her through dark glasses before snapping, "City owned building, babe, no smoking.." as he thought 'writer, my ass'

She sighed dramatically, flopping forward on the table and wailed, "Look, I keep telling you..I know nothing...Ted was a sweet guy, I met him at a club.. it was his club, some Italian joint with cheap red wine and gorgeous gay male waiters. We talked over Chianti and cigs on the roof, banished to the roof with the other smokers. Oh, could Ted smoke, he could go one on one with me, oh every cigarette, we'd smoke till someone ran out of cigs."

A light tap at the door stopped Carrie Bradshaw's monologue on the joys of smoking with a dead man and Gee stepped into the Box, motioning to Detective Munch that he had a phone call.

Carrie started crying as the older detective left the room, thinking about Ted. Hell, he wasn't Prince Charming, but he was amusing, an interesting diversion over the course of the last few weeks. She looked up as the short swarthy detective, Falsone, handed her a box of tissues, shuffling uncomfortably back and forth, not sure what next to do with this weeping woman. She smiled coyly, realizing he'd been eyeballing her since the moment she'd been rudely hauled into this place. With time to kill and no cigarettes Carrie decided that the next best thing would be flirting with the greasy-haired man with the baby face, real slumming. "So," she husked, "how does a girl go about having a good time in Baltimore? You have any ideas detective?"

Carrie stretched out one long leg, slowly smoothing her stocking up her leg in full view of the younger man. Paul Falsone tried unsuccessfully to feign a look of utter boredom before he said forcefully, "Look, let's cut the crap.. I can't afford the rates you charge on a cops salary.. besides I wouldn't put it past my ex, Janine, to have a P.I. on my ass who'd tell her as soon as I started cavorting with hookers, even fancy, high priced hookers...anything to keep me for seeing my son. Ain't no piece of ass worth risking visitation with my son for."

Gasping in shock Carrie tried to stand, forgetting for a moment that she was handcuffed to the table, steel cuffs reminding her as she pulled against them. "Hooker? You think I'm a..a... hooker? How dare you... you..you rude little man."

The mood in the Waterfront Bar was subdued, everyone sat around glumly, gulping down various boozes in an attempt to wash the remains of this wasted day away. All the man hours wasted on the red ball of the television producers death and no one would be getting any overtime out of it. Tapes from the security camera in Ted Fontera's apartment had shown that his death had been nothing more than a freaky accident involving Fontera's dog knocking over his own gun, which then discharged as it fell behind the sofa, the fired bullet hitting him in the skull. His missing Rolex was discovered in a hidden wall safe along with a few thousand in small bills. The hookers from New York turned out not to be hookers, that was confirmed by a phone call from one Lennie Briscow from the NYPD. Turns out he'd once dated Samantha Jones and knew of all the women, telling Munch that he never missed Carrie Bradshaws sex column in the New York Star because it was so smutty. The dead corner boys turned out to be completely unrelated to Fontera's death, ballistics showed that they shot each other, the women were telling the truth after all.

Munch raised a toast as Lewis poured out another round of bourbon, "Here's to today's murders that weren't really murders.."

Bayliss, Kellerman, Howard and Falsone also raised their brimming shot glasses while Frank made do with club soda. But before anyone could bolt down their drink the door opened, spilling a group of women into the dimly lit interior. A blonde in a ripped suit stepped forward and said in a voice brimming with excitement, "Oooh, a cop bar.. I love a man in uniform."

Tim sighed, thinking that he might have known this horny old cow would find where they were. The others followed Samantha, the uptight Charlotte and the red haired lawyer Miranda Hobbs. Bringing up the rear, staggering like a drunken ballerina with palsy came Carrie Bradshaw, stumbling on her very high heels. Sam sat at their table, cooing as she slid in next to Frank, "A table full of dicks, that is what they call detectives, is it not? I love dicks.."

Frank rolled his eyes in disgust, picked up his hat and left without a word. The others did the same, pushing back from the table and leaving without saying a thing. As the other ladies sat down Sam looked around with a sad look on her face and said, "Was it something I said?"


End file.
